4: The Nanny
by GrimmGirl8
Summary: Fourth of five. Even an army doctor and an ex-CIA agent need a little help, sometimes. Rated teen for mild violence. Post Christmas Special, written before Series Four. Spoilers.
1. The Prologue

**Prologue**

 _March 2015_

The first four weeks had been a blissful whirlwind of emotions. The most perfect twenty eight days of their lives. The best sleeplessness they would ever know.

At least, that's what they told everyone. No one wanted to know the reality of what John and Mary were dealing with. That a new baby was quickly becoming one of the top three things most likely to be the death of John (number one being his best friend, Sherlock Holmes). He and Mary were among the first of their friends to get married, let alone to get pregnant. They couldn't sympathize with the two, four and six A.M. feedings. Didn't know what it was like to be sprayed while changing a nappy, despite the fact that the baby girl seemingly lacked the equipment to accomplish the task. What spit up tasted like after being warmed in the stomach of an infant.

But then there were those moments. Those simply perfect moments when she had fallen asleep with her cheek resting on her little fist, her peach fuzz blonde hair blowing softly as Mary breathed in the sweet baby's scent. When she opened her eyes just enough for John to see the pale grey blue that danced with light. A faint twinge of a smile when he brushed her ears as he changed her tiny clothes to some not completely covered in saliva. At least, not for the next ten minutes.

They'd had very few visitors so far. Mrs. Hudson had brought a week's worth of casseroles every Sunday with instructions for storing, reheating and then storing again. Most of these dishes had been eaten cold; left on the counter to be scooped out, bare handed, until the couple could no longer justify their edibility. Lestrade had come three times a week for the first two. He was surprisingly adept at holding an infant. The new parents had found themselves asleep on the sofa more than once as Greg cradled their girl. But as cases began to pile up, his visits stopped altogether, though he called as often as he could. Even Molly had stopped by once, though her visit was cut short. Her nerves eventually had gotten the better of her as she crashed into surrounding objects and rattled off statistics about infant illnesses. She had left apologizing the entire way, though both John and Mary tried to encourage her to stay.

Sherlock had been the only one who had not made an appearance at the flat. He had been to the hospital after John had first broken the news to him. The consulting detective had seemed rather distracted, but the moment John's daughter was placed into his arms, his entire demeanor changed. He had become completely wrapped around her littlest finger at the sight of her chubby cheeks and bemused smile. He cooed, cuddled and stared at the small figure wrapped in pink until a nurse came in and announced it was feeding time. As the two men were ushered out, John saw it as the perfect opportunity to ask a very important question.

"Sherlock, Mary and I were wondering... Well, I was really wondering... Though I'm sure this goes without saying, you must already know..."

"John, I'm sure they won't be all day with feeding her, so why don't we just skip to the point."

Sherlock was smiling, amused by how flustered fatherhood had made his blogger.

"Yes, well, fair enough. Will you be our little girl's godfather?"

Sherlock's face went blank. He simply stared at the doctor, barely blinking.

"Not religiously, of course, though we would like you to be at the christening. It's more of a symbolic thing. Anyway, it only seems appropriate, you being the best man at our wedding…"

The blank stare continued as John spoke. It was a bit unnerving, actually, but it was something John had expected as a possible reaction. His best friend's gaze wasn't broken until a buzz came from his pocket.

"Look, Sherlock, I know it's not something you normally do…"

Sherlock looked at his phone, his face remained blank as he studied it intently. John continued, now slightly annoyed.

"But having a baby isn't something _I'm_ used to, either, so…"

"I'm sorry John, I cannot accept."

His words came out so abruptly that John was shocked into instant silence. He blinked several times, attempting to process the impossible sentence that had just exited the thin-lipped mouth. Hesitation he had expected. Disbelief, shock, _gratitude_ ; all expected. But not refusal.

"You can't be serious!"

"I'm sorry, John, I have to go."

"But Sherlock! Sherlock!"

As the tails of the long charcoal coat vanished behind the elevator doors, John felt sick to his stomach. His phone calls went unanswered for the following two days. Mary tried her best to reassure her husband. That, perhaps, he just needed some time. But John continued to think the worst. Since then, he only received fleeting texts from the consulting detective. Notes like "new case, busy for a few days" and "hope you three are doing well." Any texts from John, however, went completely unanswered. Lestrade offered little consolation, though he was able to at least provide some connection to the man.

"He's just wrapped up in a case. You know how he gets. And with you gone… Well, he's doing his best to give you your space. He knows how important this time is for you both. For all _three_ of you. Give it some time. And I'll talk to him, see if i can't get him to drop in."

But Greg seemed to have no success with this task, either. Mrs. Hudson had even less news to offer.

"Barely see him anymore. A glimpse every now and again. But that web in the living room has gotten worse. Strings everywhere! I had to stop him from connecting it to the door. I couldn't get in! Otherwise, he seems fine, bless him. Still drinks the tea I leave every morning, though sometimes he's not home when I do. But I'm sure he's fine, dear, don't you worry. He'll come 'round soon enough. Now, come sit down and have a cupa'."

There had been one night when the couple had found themselves stranded in the middle of the night with no nappies or wipes. As John left the flat half awake and half dressed, he stopped at the site of a shopping bag on the steps. He was so tired and distraught that he never questioned the bag's appearance, but simply plucked it up and headed back inside.

Now, almost a month after speaking to Sherlock in the hospital, John's pocket buzzed.

 _If convenient, come to Baker Street. If inconvenient, come when able._

With more speed than he would later admit to, John hurried to dress, kiss Mary and the baby goodbye, then rushed to 221B.

The all too familiar dark blue door slammed behind him as he ran up the stairs of his best friend's flat. Mrs. Hudson began shouting from below at the noise, but John wasn't listening.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, if you're not here, I'm going to bloody kill you."

The living room was empty, save for the maze of strings and notes strung from all areas of the room. The center note still read in ominous red letters "Did you miss me?" John continued to call out as he checked the kitchen, bedroom and even the loo. Finding no one, John headed upstairs to his old room. He didn't know why he was checking there. John didn't think Sherlock had so much as cleared his bed, let alone moved anything from when he had lived there nearly three years ago.

"Sherlock, I didn't come all this way just to..."

His sentence was cut short as he opened the door and he was met with a brilliant sight. The walls had been painted a soft green with a border of colourful geometric shapes lining the top of the room. The bed had been removed and replaced with a grey wooden cot with high sides. A changing table, small dresser and bookshelf lined the other walls. A variety of educational toys and books were nearly organized around the room. The only word John could think of to describe the design was _science_. Sherlock was standing just in front of the wardrobe holding a gift basket filled with nappies, wipes and a stuffed honey bee. He was smiling his sweet, placid smile that he only wore when apologising to his blogger.

"If the offer still stands, now I can accept."


	2. The Interviews

_April 2015_

As cases began to pile up, it became more evident how much John was needed back at Baker Street. It was also becoming clear that Mary needed at least a few hours a day to regroup, shower and otherwise try to feel human again. So, the decision was made to hire a nanny.

An advertisement was taken out in the paper as well as several websites and agencies:

 _Nanny wanted for infant girl. Previous experience required. Special skills encouraged. Expect odd hours. Inquire at..._

Now, more than a week after this ad had been released, John and Mary had seen almost a dozen hopeful applicants. It was always the same round of questions about previous experience, education, life goals and current availability. They had the added advantage of Mary's superior lie detecting skills, which John secretly thanked the CIA for. John was also surprised to see how much had rubbed off on him from the years of working with Sherlock. He was able to deduce a lot of the applicants' living situations before they had even gotten to that round of questioning.

If the applicants passed the first step in the interview process, which almost half had, they were asked to sign a nondisclosure agreement. A couple had refused, ending the inquiry, but most understood the importance of wanting to keep certain aspects of the family's personal life secret to the outside world. They were then encouraged to ask any question they wished. Most asked about the nature of the work they would be doing, hours to expect and wage estimates. Some wondered about the couple's jobs specifically, to which the two expertly danced about the truth.

If all had gone well, they were met with the final task: meeting baby girl Watson. The new parents had always taken advantage of Mrs. Hudson's offer to watch their little one "anytime, day or night" during interviews so that their attention could be fully focused on the task at hand. The three times they had reached this portion of the inquiry, however, Mrs. Hudson was thanked and sent back home so that she might enjoy a cuppa' and her herbal soothers. Then, the excited job seeker was invited to meet their darling girl.

This part began simply enough: the possible new nanny entered the room, fully aware that they were probably being watched by their interviewers on a hidden camera. Two began holding and cuddling the little girl, one started by reading the most educational book on the shelf. All focused all of their energy and attention on the infant. Then came the fun part. When the couple felt sure that the interviewee was unaware and was no longer holding the baby, they decided which one of them would be the one to go into the room. The chosen parent then dressed in black from head to toe, including a voice modulator mounted inside a fully blacked out face mask. Then, while the unsuspecting nanny had their back turned, one of them took an unloaded handgun, entered the room, holding the gun at head level.

 _"Give me the baby if you want to live!"_

And then the screaming, the crying, in one case the blubbering would ensue and then, inevitably, they would beg for their lives in exchange for the baby. John was still surprised that no one had yet called the Yard, not that one phone call to Greg wouldn't take care of that. All of this simply meant that, once again, they had to try yet again.

...

As the bell of the flat door rang, John turned to Mary before standing.

"Bet you five quid she's a crier."

"You're on!"

John opened the door to find a well dressed young woman of no more than twenty standing on their doorstep.

"You must be Camilla! I'm Dr. Watson and this is my wife, Mary. Please come in!"

"Yes, thank you! Sorry, I'm a bit early."

"No, nonsense. You can never be too early, especially to a job interview."

As the redhead walked in to greet Mary, John mimed behind her back to his wife.

 _Crier!_

 _..._

The first round of questions went very smoothly. John had some concerns about her lack of experience, but, as Mary pointed out, beggars couldn't be choosers. When the subject of the nondisclosure agreement came up, Camilla signed the papers without batting an eye, though she did read every word of the agreement.

"Now that's done, do you have any questions for Mary and me?"

"And please feel free to ask anything at all. Nothing is off limits and we will do our best to answer if we can."

Mary smiled sweetly as she finished and John couldn't help but smile in return. She had such a way to make people feel at home. Her depth of warmth and kindness never ceased to amaze him.

"Honestly, I only have one question: why haven't you been able to find a nanny yet?"

The couple turned to each other, both with looks of disbelief. John expected to be asked about their occupations, the hours, even about their daughter. He never expected this. The woman continued, fully aware that this question was out of the ordinary.

"It's just, every interview I've been to so far has turned me away before I could even get started because they had already hired someone. The agencies can't keep enough nannies in house because the demand is so high. Yet, my agency said you've been through a dozen interviews and still haven't found someone. So, I was just wondering; is it you, or is it us?"

Again, the couple exchanged questioning looks. How could they answer that without tipping her off? John couldn't help but laugh as he tried to answer.

"Well, that certainly is the question, isn't it?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to imply…"

"No, not at all, dear. We said ask and you did. I guess my husband and I... well, we just aren't sure how to answer you. I guess…"

She turned back to John, pleading for help.

"We just haven't found the right fit, is all."

They both exchanged another smile before turning back to Camilla. It was as good an answer as any. For now, anyway.

"Are you sure you don't have any other questions?"

"No, that was really the only one. Nothing else really matters, yet. That is, unless I get the job."

The hopeful look on the young woman's face almost made John feel bad for what they were about to put her through.

"Alright, well, give me a few minutes to get rid of Mrs. Hudson and you can meet our little princess!"

John came back a few moments after seeing his former landlady out to sit next to his wife on the sofa. Mary held the tablet between them so that John could see the playback from the nursery.

"Anything interesting yet?"

"She's been rearranging the books and singing."

"I'm sorry?"

"The books! She started moving them about on the shelf. And listen!"

Very faintly through the monitor John could hear the soft melody of what sounded like something he'd heard before.

"Who does she think she is, Mary bloody Poppins?"

John laughed has Mary attempted to turn up the volume, listening intently.

"It's Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata."

"How in the bloody hell do you know that?"

Mary gave him a look that suggested this was one of those questions she couldn't answer without dragging up things they'd rather not talk about. John withdrew his question immediately.

After a few moments, the baby began to fuss, making Camilla stop her organizing and go over to the cot. As she rocked the infant, her song changed to one slightly more upbeat, but still calming. Again, Mary began listening intently, trying to put a name to the tune.

"Vivaldi. Well, I must say she certainly knows her classics. And not a bad voice, either."

"Well, I think it's about that time. I'll go and change. Let me know when she puts little girl down, yeah?"

Not long after John had returned, Mary gave him the all clear to go in. Dawning the mask, John crept into the hall. he was now very well practiced in how to enter the nursery so as to make as little noise as possible. Avoiding all of the loose floorboards, he pushed open the very well-oiled door. Camilla was still singing softly with her back to the door as she looked over the infant's growing library. John held the harmless weapon at eye height, elbows bent, using all of the training that British Armed Forces had given him. When the barrel was inches from her head, he stopped, speaking as quietly as he could into the voice modulator. The humming stopped the instant he spoke.

 _"Give me the baby if..."_

With speed he hadn't seen since Afghanistan, Camilla turned to face John. Using her left hand, she used the strongest point of her forearm to slam into John's wrist with a smack. Submitting to the sheer force of the hit, John dropped the weapon just in time to have his throat attacked by the other hand of his assailant. Now breathless, he was barely aware that his knees were being taken out by a hard kick to his shins. Toppling to the ground, he had just enough time to see the gun he had dropped being picked up before his head hit the carpet. The entire interaction took only a few seconds, but the John, every moment of pain felt like an eternity.

Looking down at her would be attacker, Camilla pointed the gun, two handed, at the new father's head. She spoke in a whisper that was barely audible over the ringing in John's ears.

"Slowly take off the mask and put your hands..."

She stopped mid sentence, looking at the recovered weapon with utter confusion.

"This gun is empty."

Attempting to catch his breath, John used his uninjured hand to slowly remove his hood.

"You're hired."


	3. The Thing

In the living room of 221B Baker street, Sherlock sat in a chair at the centre of the room. Well, "sat" was a relative term. Both of his feet were planted firmly on the seat of the chair, his posterior resting on the chair's back. Knees drawn nearly to his chest, Sherlock rested his elbows on them, steepling his fingers in front of his mouth as he leaned forward. Even leaning forward, however, the top of his head still barely cleared the ominous words at the center of the string web; "Did you miss me?"

His gaze was locked on the young redhead who had been introduced to him as Camilla. Seated on the sofa opposite him, the Watson's new nanny was calm, but clearly annoyed at having been sat in one attitude for so long. Today, her clothing was much more relaxed, not just because she had already gotten the job, but because Sherlock had requested it. He wanted their meeting to feel as informal as possible to get a better read on his subject.

As their staring contest entered into its fourth minute, Camilla lost her patience with the strange, thin man the Watson's insisted she meet.

"As much fun as this is, there are other things I could be doing today."

"You're being sarcastic, but I do find this rather fun."

Sherlock's face curled into a grinch like smile as Camilla frowned at him. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head as she sighed loudly.

"I don't really have the job until you look me over, is that it?"

"Something like that, yes."

"So?"

"So, what?"

"Are you going to do 'the thing,' or not?"

Sherlock's pose remained unchanged, save for a tilting of his head at this new question.

"What 'thing' would that be, I wonder?"

"'The thing' where you look at someone and can tell where they were born and if they've ever eaten sweet corn in their life."

This last statement was met with an amused silence. With his new found fame, Sherlock had run into quite a bit of this sort of assumption about his methods. Since his 'death,' however, he had not seen it quite as much. It seems the novelty had somewhat worn thin. This new occurrence, therefore, was quite amusing.

"I started reading your blog last night. Very interesting stuff."

"John's blog. And those stories are greatly exaggerated."

"So, you don't do 'the thing?'"

"No, I definitely do 'the thing.'"

"Then do 'the thing.'"

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I already did 'the thing' five minutes ago when you first walked in."

Sherlock smirked at his own aptitude for exacerbating a situation. Camilla, on the other hand, was not as amused.

"Then why are we still sitting here?"

"I finally got comfortable, I don't know why you are."

Another large smirk from the consulting detective. Another eye roll and a sigh from the nanny.

"Well, if you're finished..."

As she stood to leave, Sherlock slipped down to sit in the seat as it was intended, crossing his legs as he did so.

"Why didn't you put your military history on your CV? Could've saved everyone a lot of trouble."

Camilla stopped as she reached the door, but didn't turn back to look at the thin man.

"I didn't think it was relevant to a nanny position."

"Or, was it because you were dishonourably discharged after only ten months for conduct unbecoming a soldier?"

Camilla turned slowly on the spot. Her annoyed expression had become one of disbelief, curiosity and fear. Sherlock remained very pleased with himself.

"You couldn't have possibly gotten that from 'the thing.'"

"No, that I looked up."

"Those records were sealed."

"Were they, now?"

Sherlock stood, becoming evermore proud of himself, and began slowly wandering over towards Camilla, ducking to avoid the strings of moriarty's web as needed. As he grew closer, he began to slowly circle the poor girl; a dark hawk stalking his redheaded prey.

"Here's something I did get from 'the thing.' Your father was military, moving you from place to place while you were growing up, along with your other siblings. From the way you carry yourself and your clothing choices, I'm going to say three, maybe four brothers, all older than you. Also, based on those observations, I'm going to say you primarily grew up without a mother. It's most likely that she died when you were quite young (sorry about that) and not that she left your father or else she would have taken you with her. So, the military was a natural transition for you given your upbringing. But then, why act so not like a soldier, risking the disapproval of your father?"

"And what makes you think I _need_ approval from my father?"

"Well, if the Big Ben sized chip on your shoulder didn't tip me off, that comment _certainly_ would. His approval matters more than anything else. Or at least it did, until you were kicked out of the army and became a _nanny._ No, you would've needed to be really pushed to the limit to risk everything. But that brings us back to the question of _why_?"

"You're a real prat, you know that?"

"Growing up with three, possibly four other brothers, you would have either been a princess or, more likely given your attire, made one of the boys. But, not being a boy, you would have been bullied mercilessly. Meaning, you wouldn't take too kindly to someone with a false sense of entitlement and power. Which means, a superior officer wouldn't stand a _chance_ with you as his charge."

"You've found me out. I beat up my lieutenant because I'm a motherless tomboy who was kicked around as a kid. Well done you."

"Really? I've been intentionally using intimidation tactics since you walked in, but it took me attacking your father for you to even call me a prat. Which can only mean that you have an overdeveloped sense of protection. So, my guess is that one of your fellow soldiers (most likely a woman) was being bullied or abused by a superior officer (definitely a man). In coming to her defense, you got a little over-passionate and were dismissed because of it. Am I close?"

Sherlock had stopped face to face with Camilla, their foreheads only inches apart. The young woman looked as though her temper were about to blow as the thin man smirked, staring her down.

"He took advantage of her. And it wasn't the first time. I just happened to walk into the tent. So I stabbed him in the leg. But she didn't want anyone to know what had been happening so she lied. Said I was a nutter, jealous because I wanted him for myself. Poor thing was so scared what else might happen to her. I tried to talk to her, get her to ask for a transfer, but my solicitor wouldn't let me get near her. No one believed me, so I got the sack. Is that 'close' enough for you?"

She looked close to tears as she turned from her antagoniser and walked toward the stairs.

"Tell Dr. and Mrs. Watson thank you for the opportunity and I hope that they find a nanny soon."

"You're leaving?"

"Well, I'm fired aren't I?"

"You just defended a woman who lied and got you kicked out of the only place you ever felt you belonged because you sympathise with her blight. You're not fired. If anything, I think you deserve a raise!"

Sherlock's face had finally crossed the line from snarky to pleasant. He extended a hand, inviting Camilla back inside. She turned back, still very confused, and reentering with caution.

"Tea? I think Mrs. Hudson made a pot just before you arrived. Should still be hot."

Sherlock returned within moments with the tea tray already prepared by his landlady. The nanny took the cup, still eyeing the man offering it to her.

"I hear you like to sing. Can we expect to hear a lot of 'Incy Wincy Spider' and 'You Are My Sunshine?'"

"'We?' What, are you married to them, too, then?"

Camilla laughed, she seemed to be lightening up slightly. Sherlock decided to take this new found levity and run with it.

"Well, you know. Modern times, modern relationships."

Sherlock smiled widely, catching the glimpse of a small glint of amusement from above the woman's tea cup. He laughed at himself as he continued.

"I'm the girl's godfather. Consider me as constant in her life as her parents. Only, I don't live there, I'm not of a blood relation and I don't contribute financially to her upbringing. But other than that…"

The woman relaxed, now grinning broadly, and sunk backwards into the sofa.

"The only way I will _ever_ sing 'You Are My Sunshine' is under threat of death. That song is a debasement of musicality and creativity. Children should be exposed to classical music. Complex melodies and arrangements. Not a badly rhymed song."

"Actually, simple melodies can be just as beneficial to an infant's brain development, as well as rhymes of any kind. Which reminds me…"

Sherlock walked over to the corner and picked up a heavy box of books. He let it hit the coffee table in front of Camilla with a heavy thud.

"I'd like you to read these childhood development books. Many of them have conflicting theories, but they do provide a nice overview of information which you lack from professional experience and education in the field of childcare. There are only two dozen, so it should take you about three days to finish."

"You read all of these books in three days?"

"Don't be silly, it took me one evening."

The grinch-like smile returned to Sherlock's face as Camilla began to laugh at him.

"I have news for you, Mr. Holmes; Dr. Watson's blog is not as exaggerated as you seem to think."


	4. The Honey Bee

May 2015

John sat in the old brocade armchair at 221B, staring at the web of string hanging above him. He and his best friend had been pouring over evidence for the past two hours to no avail. Sherlock sat in the chair across from the doctor. staring at a small, empty wooden box with the words "vacuus ligneus arca" carved into the top. A soft, crackle of white noise could be heard coming somewhere from behind Sherlock's chair. It wasn't the first time the consulting detective left the radio on static for long periods of time. John knew it was pointless to try to get him to turn it off, so he had just been ignoring the sound.

As John's eyes started to shut from boredom, however, he heard a low, sweet melody from somewhere inside the static. It was very pleasant, but there was something odd about it. Something hollow. Something… lacking.

"Bit odd, this station. Why are you listening to it?"

"Hum?"

Sherlock did not look up, barely acknowledging that anything had been said.

"The radio station you have on. The music is… off."

"What are you chattering on about?"

Looking annoyed, the thin man finally looked up at his blogger.

"What is this you're listening to? Something foreign?"

John pointed at the small speaker behind his friend's chair. Sherlock turned to see what was being pointed to, only to turn back, waving a hand in the air to dismiss the cumbersome conversation.

"That's not a radio, that's the baby monitor."

"What baby monit… _My_ baby's monitor? You have a link to our baby's monitor in your bookcase?!"

"Yes, of course, John. How else am I supposed to keep an eye on things?"

"What, so you only listen to it when Mary is out of town, is that it? Did she put you up to this?"

"Don't be absurd; it's never off."

John looked at the ceiling, trying to hold a non-murderous thought in his head. His mouth gaped as he searched for words.

"Oh, do calm down, John. It's only strong enough to hear what's going on in the baby's room. Mostly I just hear Mary cooing, you reading stories and the nanny singing. I don't hear anything I haven't heard already."

"I shudder to think what you've heard already."

John gripped the arms of his chair a little more tightly as Sherlock returned to his staring contest with the box. But, John wasn't willing to give up this fight that easily.

"You're a real wanker, you know that?"

Sherlock looked up, puzzled by how exactly this conversation had turned so quickly.

"You know, I would have said yes, had you asked…"

"John…"

"But, the fact that you didn't ask really just..."

"John!"

"Don't you 'John' me! I have a right in my own home to…"

Sherlock had lept from his chair and put a hand over John's mouth, using the other hand to point a single finger into the air. John stopped, listening to the sounds coming from the bookshelf. The tune had changed from humming to softly sung lyrics.

"...when skies are grey. You'll never know dear..."

"That's strange, she never sings..."

But Sherlock had already grabbed his coat and was headed for the door. John followed his best friend who was now taking the steps three at a time. A long, pale hand had jammed into his back pocket and started dialing the retrieved mobile.

"Lestrade, maximum back up to the Watson's house NOW!"

"SHERLOCK WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON?!"

...

Thanks to a passing motorbike which was "borrowed" from a passing rider, Sherlock and John made it to the family's flat just as the police arrived. Sherlock had tried to explain the situation on the way, but between the traffic, engine and adrenaline, the only words the panicked father understood were "mortal danger" and "your daughter." Lestrade had just stepped out of his car holding a shotgun just as the two men pulled up.

"John, I don't think you should be…"

But he wasn't listening. The doctor had already dismounted the bike before it had come to a full halt and grabbed the shotgun out of the surprised D.I.'s hand.

"John! You can't just…!"

Cocking the shotgun, John took the steps up to his front door two at a time and used all his force to kick it in. As soon as the door was clear, he braced the weapon against his shoulder, staring down the barrel as he started through his home. Behind him, he could hear Greg shouting commands at his officers.

His muscles reverted to their military training. He swept the hall. Clear. He swept the living room. Clear. Kitchen, clear. Closet, loo, hall to the bedrooms, all clear. His heart tried to sink as he reached his daughter's room, but Afghanistan wouldn't let it. Slowly he pushed open the door. The crib sat empty along the wall of the small room. Books littered the floor as if the bookcase had been slammed into. Drawers had been pulled open, but not shut. Once neatly folded clothes now covered the rug. In the center of the room, bound and gagged, was Camilla. John immediately lowered the gun and began checking the unconscious woman's vitals. Pulse slow, but present. Small amount of blood on the back of her head caused by blunt force; possible concussion. As John examined her, four men in full combat gear entered the hall behind him, followed closely by Lestrade and Sherlock. Lestrade immediately knelt beside his friend.

"Is she alive?"

"Just unconscious."

John propped the nanny on his leg to sit her upright as Lestrade started on the plastic zip ties around her wrists and ankles. John began to gently pat Camilla's cheeks, sitting her head upright.

"Come on, now, soldier, time to come round. Wake up. Wake up."

Slowly, she began to open her eyes. As soon as she had gained her surroundings, she began frantically looking about the room. Sherlock had already begun to scan the room for clues.

"Slowly, slowly! You've taken a good hit to the head."

"I'm so sorry, Dr. Watson! I did everything I could, I swear."

"That's ok, dear. It's all right. I need you to tell me everything you can about them. How many, what they were wearing, what they sounded like…"

But Sherlock had suddenly swept down, crouching beside the three people at the center of the room.

"Where is her bee?"

"Sherlock, this isn't the time for…"

"It's in her bag, just like you told me, Mr. Holmes. She can never go anywhere without her honey bee. I told them she'd cry without it."

"Good girl!"

Sherlock stood and started to do something on his phone, walking out of the room. John looked after him, then back at Lestrade.

"You go, I've got her. Take Donovan!"

John exited the flat hot on Sherlock's heels.

"You put a tracking device in the bee didn't you?"

"Are you angry?"

"Are you kidding? I could kiss you!"

"People will talk."

The two men headed to a waiting patrol car as Donovan waited by the driver's door.

"They couldn't have gotten far. Have you alerted Mary?"

"She'll be here within the hour."

The car door closed, but before Sherlock could direct Donovan using the tracking device, they heard shouting from the flat steps.

"You can't go, you need to see a medic!"

"Try and stop me, I dare you!"

In a few seconds, Camilla was at the car window tapping on the glass, followed closely by Lestrade. John rolled down the window as the engine of the car turned over.

"As your doctor, I forbid you to get in this car. You need to go to hospital."

"She is my charge. And I'll be damned if you keep me out of it!"

Her face shown with such determination and resolve that John knew what he had to do.

"Sherlock, scoot over."

"John! She's a kid!"

"She's a soldier, Greg. If she says she can handle it, I believe her! Let's go, Donovan!"

The car sped away, lights blazing, siren screaming, followed closely by a fully outfitted tactical team.


	5. The Takedown

The tracking signal stopped moving just outside of London. Before they reached the city limit, however, the soft voice of his best friend came from the backseat.

"John, I'm so sorry, but I can't."

John turned to see a pleading look on the thin man's face. He was subconsciously scratching his leg again, revealing the small blinking light of his own tracking device, strapped to his ankle. John's heart sank knowing that the best resource he had for saving his daughter couldn't go with them any further.

"Donovan, pull over."

John had expected the sergeant to protest or at least hesitate at the order, but instead, she complied almost immediately. Once pulled over, sherlock got out of the car and went to the window where the worried father was seated, phone in hand.

"Take this. Call Mrs. Hudson as soon as there is any news."

As he placed the mobile in John's hand, Sherlock did not let go. Rather, he held on to John's with both hands, reassuringly.

"We'll get her back John. I promise you."

With a quick squeeze, the thin man let go and the car zoomed away, leaving Sherlock behind on the curb.

…

Within ten minutes, John, Camilla and Donovan were approaching the signal's location. As they drew nearer, Donovan turned off the sirens and lights, the tactical team behind them following suit. Turning into a row of abandoned warehouses, the town vehicles began to slow to a crawl. John's stomach lurched to his throat at the site of a lone vehicle at the end of the row.

"Stop here, behind this building. They probably have a look out."

John and Camilla exited the car and headed for the tactical team, who were now busy preparing themselves and their gear. John began to grab two extra vests from inside, handing one to Camilla, when Donovan came round the corner.

"No, no, no! The Chief will have my head!"

"Donovan. Do you really think you can stop me?"

John's eyes were pleading, saying everything that he couldn't bring himself to. With a loud sigh, Donovan rolled her eyes.

"If the Chief asks, you went against my orders. And you wear full gear, head to toe. You're still civilians!"

As the two dressed alongside the officers, Camilla lowered her voice so that only John could hear, looking around to be sure they weren't overheard.

"Justice or revenge?"

The question caught John completely off guard. He blinked several times, trying to comprehend the statement.

"I'm sorry, I don't quite understand…"

"You understand me perfectly. I know what I would do in your shoes. Whatever your decision, I will back you up. Mr. Holmes already told you; I don't like bullies. And that's all these guys are. So, what will it be? Justice or revenge?"

John looked into the young woman's eyes, fire dancing behind them. This woman. So young. And yet, had already shown such loyalty to Queen and Country. Now, about to do the same for John. He spoke his words very carefully, so as not to be misinterpreted.

"Justice. This is my little girl. We need to set an example. Understood?"

"Sir, yes sir."

Camilla gave a well practiced solute and fell in line with the officers, John right behind her. Donovan, now dressed in a vest, had stood to address her troops.

"Alright. We have the added advantage of the element of surprise. They won't have suspected us of being here so quickly. They haven't even made a ransom call to the Watson's yet. We can't risk a drone being seen, so we will have to do on foot recognisance. Phillips, Hodges, you scope the building's perimeter and report back using the coms. Everyone else will remain on alert until I give further instructions."

...

The waiting. The _waiting._ John was no stranger to protocol. Rules were there for a purpose. Well tested strategies and procedures put in place to optimise the success of the mission. But each passing moment left a growing pile of knots in his stomach. Each passing minute closer to when his baby girl would need to eat again. Be burped. Changed. Put down for a nap. Another moment away from his darling daughter. Of uncertainty.

 _It'll be fine. It's going to be fine. She's going to be alright. We're going to get her back._ The words repeated in his head on a loop, but provided little comfort.

After what seemed lifetimes, Donovan gave the signal to move in. Group moved en masse, staying as low and hidden as possible. They moved as pre-panned machines, moving to their predetermined locations. Upon Donovan's insistence, John and Camilla kept close to her, moving across the carpark like a tightly knit triangle.

They moved to the southwest door: the closet point to baby Watson. Sitting outside the warehouse, Donovan took an opportunity to peek in through the window. It was all John could do not to break rank and do the same. She signaled with her hands, mouthing the words as she did: three men inside, armed, baby sleeping, unattended; breach the warehouse on her mark.

John used every muscle in his body to move his heart out of his throat and back to his chest. Camilla looked at him, confirming the loyalty he already knew was there. A sharp breath. Silence. Then...

"Go, go, go, go!"

A symphony of noise rang out in the hollow tin of the warehouse. Every officer descended on the three kidnappers, disarming them within a matter of moments, Camilla right beside them. John rushed to his little girl just as she began to cry from the noise. Setting aside his gun, John clutched his baby to his bulletproof chest, rocking and soothing the upset infant as best he could in Kevlar. Once she was slightly more calm, the doctor set to work, checking every inch of the tiny frame. Not a scratch. With a huge sigh of relief, John began to rock and soothe again.

"Stand down, soldier, that's an order!"

The near scream from Sergeant Donovan caused John to spin on the spot. Camilla had seemingly pushed one of the suspects to the ground and now had him point blank to the temple. John felt helpless. He couldn't shout, not when he had his newly reunited daughter so close to his chest. Camilla's face was so contorted with rage as to be almost unrecognizable. Just before what seemed like a point of no return, she looked up at her employer. John did not waste this momentary eye contact. As firmly as he could, he furrowed his brow and mouthed his words as clearly as he could so that his lips could be read across the large warehouse.

 _Stand down, soldier._

Nodding in confirmation, Camilla backed away, putting up both hands and the weapon in compliance. Donovan walked over, disarmed the young woman, and began yelling obscenities. The redhead simply looked over at John, who nodded in approval.


	6. The Epilogue

Sherlock stood in New Scotland Yard next to his best friend, who was now cradling his infant daughter. While he was overjoyed that the situation had come to such a swift resolve, the consulting detective couldn't help but feel a crushing sense of guilt. This was now the second time that monitor strapped to his ankle had prevented from being of service to a friend. When Lady Smallwood and the Lords present at the hearing had imposed the ruling that he not be permitted to leave London, he thought nothing of it. London, in his not so private option, was the only place in the world worth being in. But now that it had inhibited promises to his friends, Sherlock began to feel the true weight of his punishment. As he looked at John, he felt he should apologise for not being of more assistance, but decided that seven times was probably enough. Besides, last time, John had threatened to punch him in the face if he apologised again.

At that moment, Mary came in running straight to her husband and daughter. The look of panic and worry on her face quickly dissolved into joy as she clutched them both. Sherlock looked away as tears began to stream down the couple's faces. He continued to find the plant in the corner very fascinating as they talked.

"Where is Camilla?"

"Finally agreed to go to hospital, now that we have our little girl back. You should have seen her. She was brilliant."

"Remind me to give that girl a raise. And what about our Sherlock, then? Still upset he missed all the fun?"

Sherlock turned to see the couple smiling up at him. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the ankle monitor, not the ruling, not Moriarty. All that mattered was this family. His family. And keeping them safe at any cost. John began to laugh at his wife.

"I'm not sure that I'd call it fun, dear."

"Yes, you would."

Sherlock spoke with a half smile, causing his blogger to smile in return. The three fell into giggles as Lestrade entered the room.

"Well, I see we're all in better spirits! You must have heard what karma had in store for our three kidnappers, then."

"What are you talking about, Greg?"

Sherlock looked at John with confusion at the name he used for Lestrade, but thought it best to leave it be.

"They were all in custody when all three became violently ill at the same time. The medics had to be called and the cells blasted clean. Completely unheard of. Almost as if they'd all eaten something horribly bad at the same time. Absolutely disgusting, but very well deserved, I must say!"

John and Mary exchanged a look that only Sherlock noticed. He knew Mary had been delayed for a reason. Sherlock fought the urge to congratulate her on her particular brand of justice. The four began to laugh until the sound grew so loud as to upset the baby. Lestrade began to move toward Sherlock as the couple calmed their daughter.

"We swept the whole house, looking for anything we could find. The only thing out of the ordinary was this book which was in the middle of the crib."

The Detective Inspector handed him a children's book; "Goodnight, Moon." On the inside cover and in large red letters was the word "consequences." Sherlock closed the book and handed back to Lestrade, making sure that John didn't see it. Lestrade's face was wracked with concern as he whispered to his consulting detective.

"This is the third one, Sherlock. What is it they say? Two's a coincidence, three's a pattern? And now it's involved a baby! What is going on?"

Sherlock's heart was beating into his ears, but he dared not show it. Every fiber of his being screamed as he kept his exterior perfectly calm and collected.

"Trust me, it's being handled. And I promise to bring you in as soon as there is something to bring you in on. But for right now, let's just enjoy this."

Sherlock made his mind push all concern aside as he looked on at the happy family before him.

End.


End file.
